Find What Was Lost
by Lunar1
Summary: After Jack was killed on an off-world mission, Sam's world has fallen apart. However, a message from an old friend leads her to try and reclaim what she has lost.
1. Misery

She pushed her key into the lock, twisted, and pushed open the front door. Pete didn't lift his head from where he lay, stretched out on the sofa with his eyes glued to the television. "Hi," he called out and she deposited her keys with an oddly jolly jingle onto the shelf near the door.

"Hi," she called back, feeling even more miserable. Once there had been a kiss on the cheek when she re-entered their dwelling, a dinner for two. Now there was television and meals in the microwave. Once there had been a house filled with an equal measure of lust and love; happiness and pleasure. Now, the shadows in the corner of the room seemed to lengthen. Two people rattled around like peas in a drum in a house really built for a small family.

She moved to the microwave, turned it on and watched her meal spin as it was re-heated. "Good day?" she asked.

"Not too bad," he replied, still watching the television. Maybe he couldn't bear to look at her anymore. Maybe to see her face was a reminder to him of those happier times, before they had settled into this listless relationship.

She took her meal on a tray to the sofa, despite her hatred of television meals. He moved his feet obligingly so she could sit next to him. His foot touched her thigh as she ate. She barely noticed; felt no desire once she had eaten and washed up to curl up with him on the sofa as they once had.

She sat back down and he poked her with a toe. At last, he met her eyes. "Are you okay?"

She looked away, feeling the damn ridiculous tears welling up. A part of her knew she would never be 'okay' again. She was to be haunted forever; deserved the life of melancholy.

"Yeah. It's just... you know."

He nodded, as if her incoherent sentence had made sense. "I know," he agreed, turning his attention back to the television.

_Is this what you wanted from married life? _she found herself thinking, the tears turning bitter and forcing themselves from her eyes, unseen by a husband who could no longer reach her; however much he wanted to. _Is this what you wanted? Television meals; no conversation? Awkwardness, a feeling of being a stranger in your own home? _

_Of course not,_ she answered herself.

She closed her teary eyes and the taint of burned flesh seemed to rise up within her, until the terrible stench filled her world and made her retch. She leapt up from the sofa and ran to the bathroom. Head in the toilet bowl, she revisited the dinner she had only just eaten. When she had finished heaving she wiped her mouth and flushed the toilet.

"Here."

She jumped. Silently as a ghost Pete had appeared behind her, holding a glass of water. She took it gratefully. "Thank you," she gasped, sipping from it.

"It's okay," he replied, the saddest of smiles touching his lips and a baleful look in his eyes. She touched his arm lightly, but he drew away; knowing it was a lie.

She sat on the lid of the toilet as her stomach rumbled ominously, sipping more water intermittently. As she stared into the glass the words played themselves again in her consciousness.

_"I have always loved you."_

They hadn't been his last words. Jack O'Neill refused to die with a cliche on his lips. But he had needed to say them. And she had replied utterly honestly.

_"I know."_

He had chuckled, blood bubbling at the corners of his mouth. _"You should go."_

_"I won't leave you."_

_"Please. You don't have to die too."_

_"You're not going to die!!" _

_"Carter," _he had looked into her eyes as she spoke, and she had felt the silent tears course down her cheeks knowing that he spoke the truth and refusing to believe it. _"I _am_ going to die here. Please... go."_

_"No." _

He had sighed. _"I guess, if it were the other way round, I'd do the same."_

His groping hands had found hers. _"Sir... Jack. I wish things could have been different. Between us."_

Again, that grotesque, bubbling chuckle. _"And me, Sam. And me."_

His eyes had closed at that point and she had begun to sob, thinking he had gone. She stroked the rough skin of his cheek and begged him to hold on, just a moment longer.

After a few minutes, when her grief has almost burnt itself away to be replaced by a deadened feeling; he had opened his eyes again, his face now wracked with pain.

_"Make sure Daniel and Teal'c look after themselves."_

_"I will."_

_"Look after yourself too."_

_"I will."_

His breath had begun to come less easy. He had shuddered as his lungs laboured to draw enough oxygen to keep his shattered body alive._"Sam?"_

_"Yes?"_

_"Be happy. That's all I want. Be happy." _He had grimaced as his body began to fail him.

She had kissed his mouth, splattering tears on his bloody face. _"I love you."_

He had given no answer, only smiled, in spite of his pain. She knew that in this moment he was prepared to believe her, and she was grateful. He had not taken her words as pity on a dying man but as truth. And it _was_ a truth.

He did not speak again until the very end; when the crackle of staff weapon fire was becoming audible in the distance.

_"Charlie. I'll be with Charlie again."_

She had begun to sob again as his body juddered with the spasm that would proceed his death. _"You know, they always told me the cigarettes would kill me. This makes me wonder whether it was worth quitting." _He had met her eyes, laughter shining out of them and he had gripped her hand so tightly her bones creaked. _"I could murder a beer."_

The pulse in his cold hand had stuttered and failed. He was gone.

Grateful to the fates for allowing her the time to spend his last moments with him; she had kissed his face again and placed his hands neatly in his lap. She wished she could have bought his body back, but the simple fact of the matter was he was too heavy for her to carry. She had slipped away like a ghost through the trees; past the body of the Jaffa who had finally killed General O'Neill by shooting him five times in the back, the Jaffa she had then shot.


	2. Revelations

Carter hummed as she took the elevator down to her lab. She knew some people were surprised that she continued to be so happy at work, in the very place she had spent the most time with O'Neill. But here she was reminded of the most pleasant moments they had spent together, here she was free from the vague guilt she felt around Pete.

There were always things to be done in her lab, always new discoveries or experiments that needed running. Sometimes Daniel would drop by for a chat, or more often Teal'c would bring her a cup of blue jello and they would reminisce together over the gelatin, remind themselves of the man who had never really left them.

She was typing up her report for General Higgins-

-_Jack's replacement-- _

--the new commander of the SGC when the klaxons began to blare. She sighed, hurriedly clicking on the _save_ button before hurrying to the control room.

General Higgins was standing as Generals Hammond and O'Neill had before him, staring at the spinning circles of the Stargate in the middle of a dialing a sequence. As the last chevron engaged and locked Sergeant Davis spoke.

"Receiving Tok'ra IDC sir."

Carter felt her heart lift slightly. Perhaps it would be her father-

"Open the iris."

The shimmering blue of the event horizon was almost blinding as it was revealed from behind the iris, lighting the entire room rather than the back wall.

Carter blinked in the effulgent light. A figure was now standing on the metal ramp. She felt relief wash over her.

"Dad!"

"General Carter," General Higgins added, smiling slightly and nodding to the suddenly unusually fidgety Colonel. Sam Carter turned and positively ran down the spiral stairs to the 'gateroom. Unselfconsciously she allowed her father to embrace her. It was the first time they had seen each other since Jack O'Neill's funeral.

"How are you bearing up?" he murmured in her ear as they hugged. His daughter seemed thinner than he remembered, lines of care etched on her face he had not seen before.

"I'm fine," she said and he found himself smiling wryly; he had always been able to see through her lies, however simple.

He released her as General Higgins descended regally from the control room. "Good to see you Jacob." Higgins extended a large hand which Jacob shook warmly.

"It's been a while, Ian," Jacob returned, releasing the general's hand. "I was pleased when Sam told me you got command."

Higgins smiled slightly. "I think we both know who I'm keeping it warm for," he murmured and Carter shifted uncomfortably as her father's mouth twitched with a suppressed smile of pride.

_You're keeping it warm for General O'Neill_, she thought rebelliously, stupidly.

"What brings you back here, anyway?" Higgins asked after a beat of silence slightly too long for comfort.

Jacob Carter glanced sideline at his daughter, suddenly uneasy. "I think we had better go to your office, actually," he replied. Higgins looked momentarily perplexed, but held out his arm, gesturing for Jacob to head up the stairs to the traditional office of the commander of the SGC.

Jacob took two hesitant steps and then added, his face now very serious, "I think SG-1 should be there to hear what I have to say as well."

Carter felt her insides contract painfully, wondering now what grave news her father was bearing. She nodded, feeling her jaw clench with nervous tension.

* * *

General Higgins' office was really too small for the three members of SG-1, their commander and the Tok'ra operative, but Jacob did not seem to want his news broadcast in as potentially public a forum as the briefing room.

"I want you to know," he said, his face taut with seriousness, "That I'm telling you everything we know. We're not holding anything back. Our operatives are working to try and find out more... but there is a limit to how many spies the high council is willing to plow into this."

"Into what, Jacob?"

Carter's insides writhed with anxiety. Her father was taking a deep breath before speaking, never a good sign. She remembered this face he was wearing; it was the face he had worn when he had come home to his young daughter baking brownies, the face of the bearer of terrible bad news regarding her mother.

"Our operative working within the ranks of the system lord Bastet yesterday sent the following transmission to the high council... regarding the sale of captive Tau'ri Jack O'Neill..."

Blood roared in Carter's ears. She felt dizzy, the butterflies in her stomach replaced by a queasy sickness.

"Jack..?" Daniel breathed.

She thought she might faint. "He was dead. He was dead when I left him." The sound of her own voice surprised her, coming from far, far away. She felt a hand on her shoulder and the very core of her being, detached from current events was mildly surprised to realise it was Teal'c's hand, his grip almost painfully tight.

Jacob nodded, his face full of pity. For a moment he seemed unable to speak. He bowed his head and Sel'mac spoke instead. "He was captured by a low ranking Goa'uld, known only to us as Kev'nar. Kev'Nar has... appropriated a former base of Anubis. He has a few super-soldiers at his disposal and a supposedly impregnable fortress built on a planet without a Stargate. Apparently he also has access to a sarcophagus... and knew enough about the Tau'ri to realise that Jack O'Neill would be a valuable prisoner."

Carter could barely hear the symbiote talking through her father's mouth. "There were so many bodies there... how could they know to pick him?"

"What was this Kev'nar doing on the planet anyway?" Daniel added, "We were fighting soldiers of Ba'al."

Jacob shrugged, an over-brightness in his eyes the clue to the fact that he had once again resumed control of his body. "We don't know. We really don't know. I just thought the SGC should be informed, in case you wished to mount a rescue mission..."

Three pairs of eyes flicked to General Higgins' face. He swallowed. "I will contact my superiors," he said, his voice even but a fear palpable in his eyes. "I will inform them of General O'Neill's predicament... but..." His voice broke slightly, "You know... SG-1, you know it won't be likely that I am authorised to mount a rescue operation. To risk many lives for one man... that just doesn't make sense..."

Carter swallowed a choking sob threatening to burst from her throat. Instinctively she reached for Teal'c hand, a physical warning. For a moment she wondered if he would strike Higgins.

The former Jaffa's face was taut with fury. "If you will not allow a rescue to take place..." He seemed unable to finish the sentence, a personal liking for Higgins who was an extremely capable and just commander battling with his sense of outrage at the condemnation of the man he regarded as a brother to endless death, regeneration and torture beyond human endurance.

Higgins sighed, some of the inner turmoil escaping onto his face. "I am sorry Teal'c. I knew Jack... he was a good man."

"Is a good man!" Daniel burst out, "_Is_ a good man!"

Carter closed her eyes, the memories of O'Neill's funeral, a funeral without a body playing on her eyelids.

She had stood with tears in her eye. _"We all knew Jack O'Neill in some way..."_ She had read out the speech that Daniel and Teal'c had co-written, and coerced her to speak. Daniel had added a few words at the end but somehow, they both knew, goodbye had to said by Colonel Carter more so than anyone else: O'Neill's right arm and the woman he had loved with a fierce and protective intensity.

A tear ran from under her eyelashes, down her cheek, where it splashed to the carpeted floor of the office.


	3. The Thought

She sat in her lab, tears coursing down her cheeks.

General Higgins's request for a rescue mission had, of course, been denied.

The part of her brain not occupied with her grief speculated idly on how many times she had sat in this lab, crying over O'Neill.

_Too many times._

How many times had she sat in this lab, crying over the loss of someone she loved?

_Too many times._

Daniel, Janet, Jack...

One dead, only to rise again. One lost to her forever. And one condemned to a life of eternal suffering she could do nothing to ease.__

"Argh!"

The cry of anguish tore itself from her throat and she savagely pushed a neat pile of lab reports to the floor, trying to quell the raging urge to smash all the delicate equipment of her lab. She hated being powerless, the feeling of futility, of _uselessness_, more than anything else.

The moment she had not dared to dream off, the revelation that _Yes! The Man You Love Is Not Dead, Samantha. The Second Chance You Crave Is Here! _had come, but in a way more terrible than she could have ever imagined in the depths of any nightmarish dream.

She wiped her cheeks and began picking the papers off the floor, her moment of aggression passing. Unthinkingly she began running her thumb over her wedding band.

Pete...

She heaved a sigh often synonymous with her husband's name. Jack O'Neill's death had ended the illusion she had blinded herself with, all the way down the aisle and to the altar.

_And beyond._

Pete was lovely, Pete was wonderful, Pete was caring and loving and kind and sexy and...

... and not Jack O'Neill.

She cared for Pete, loved him maybe. But, if she had ever been a subscriber to over-romanticised notions of love, which she hadn't, she would have said her _heart _belonged to O'Neill. His death had robbed her of the happiness she shared with Pete, somehow. When he had been alive, when they had existed side by side knowing that each of them would rather die themselves than lose the other... when that stupid romantic cliche of forever wanting and never getting had still existed, she had somehow found a kind of happiness with Pete. She suspected, on some subconscious level, Pete might have been a stopgap until the 'never getting' had ended... even though she had never _expected_ it to end on any conscious level.

And now O'Neill was gone? Now that 'never getting' was a certainty to the end of her days?

She felt miserable with Pete, and he miserable with her. It was as if her ability to love had died with O'Neill.

_Except he isn't dead._

She sat back down and placed her chin in her hands.

_No. He's worse than dead._

There was nothing she could do to bring him home.

_No,_ argued that infuriatingly rational part of her brain, _There is nothing that you are _willing_ to do that could bring him home._

And suddenly, in a moment of icy clarity the religious might claim as God-given, she saw the answer.

She would remember later, her thought. The Thought, it deserved a capitalisation. It was a thought so alien to her nature, so very _spiritual_ when at heart she was scientific through and through. It was a thought that betrayed her years of military training, a thought that had no goal, no clearly defined boundaries. In short, it was a thought from the very core of Samantha Carter she thought she had murdered with logic a very long time ago.

_The path is laid before my feet. All I have to do is find the courage to walk it._

She stood up and stalked out of her lab, the old Carter remembering to turn off the light behind her.

* * *

Pete was surprised when his wife practically leapt up from the sofa, where she had been apparently gazing unseeing at a dark television screen, and into his arms.

"What's happened?" he asked, a wonderful feeling of relief flooding through him she embraced him. Perhaps, just maybe, the woman he had married had returned.

"He's not dead Pete. He's not dead."

The feeling vanished, replaced by an icy dread, the fear of loss.

"O'Neill... Your commander?"

"Yes," she replied, voice muffled as she spoke into his shoulder. "But we can't rescue him."

He hugged her tightly, relief washing over him again. She was upset and she was turning to him for comfort... the alien Sam, the cold stranger who had returned home every night since the apparent death of her CO, was gone. She was kissing him, tears streaming down her face, and asking him to make it better...

...Which of course he couldn't do, but the fact that she was _asking, _the fact she had run to his arms without hesitation, without him offering...

He kissed her back passionately, hiding the broad smile that would have been perversely out of place, given the situation.

* * *

She dressed in the dark, silently, his breathing steady and deep. She realised, ashamedly, she felt a little dirty. She would shower at the SGC, rid her body of the taint of her husband. She pulled her wedding band off her finger and placed it on the bedside table, by the lamp where he would see it and not knock it off in the morning.

Her hand was on the door knob when he sighed and spoke.

"It was a goodbye, wasn't it?"

She froze, unable to form any kind of coherent sentence.

He continued anyway, his question rhetorical, and certainly not requiring a verbal answer from her; her silence was answer enough. "All of it. Tonight. It was your way of saying goodbye."

She found her voice. "Pete.. I..."

"I won't be here if... when you get back," he said, his voice strong in the blackness, "I'll move my stuff out." He paused. "I love you Sam."

"I love-"

"No. No you don't. Don't lie."

She bit her lip, tears once again threatening to spill from her eyes. "I do love you Pete," she said, her voice strong, "But... not enough. I'm sorry that it had to be like this. You deserve better."

"Good luck Sam," he said, unable to think of any other reply, his voice thick. "I imagine you're going to need it."

She paused for a moment.

"Thank you. For everything."

The door clicked shut behind her and a few moments later he heard the front door slam, followed by the sound of her car starting and pulling away.

Pete started to sob.

* * *

She drove too fast, surprised at her lack of emotion. She didn't feel sad, or even guilty about leaving Pete. In a way, it was a long time coming. But she didn't feel happy, either, or relieved. She felt nothing, no more emotion than she would at carrying out her most basic duties at the SGC. Maybe later she would feel sadness, loss, guilt.

But not now. Now Pete was simply the first tick on a very long mental checklist.

So she drove too fast, an all pervading sense of urgency driving her actions.

Thirty minutes after leaving her husband she arrived at the SGC. The staff on the surface were unsurprised to see her, it was certainly no rare occurrence for Colonel Carter to return to the base at any time of the day or night, if experiments in her lab or more pressing duty called.

Firstly, she showered in her on base quarters and dressed in BDUs. She had an odd feeling as she neatly folded her jeans and jumper, that it would be an awfully long time before she would be wearing such clothes again.

It was two o'clock in the morning when she began walking to the control room, her heart thumping with a nervous anticipation. A sleepy technician was on duty, suppressing a yawn as she entered the control room.

"Morning Ma'am."

"Morning Sergeant. Uh... I've been running some simulations in my lab... I wanted to do some fiddling with the 'gate control systems. I figured now would be the best time to do it."

The technician looked confused for a moment. He blinked. He wasn't paid to figure out the idiosyncrasies of higher ranking officers. He nodded. "Of course Ma'am... do you need to use my station?"

"No. It's fine. I just thought I'd warn you before I started..."

He nodded, stifling another yawn.

She sat down at another station and began typing furiously.

It took twenty minutes for her to complete the programme. When she was finished she stood up and smiled at the technician. "All done."

He smiled back, bored senseless. "Yes ma'am."

She pressed the enter button on her keyboard and thrust her crossed fingers into her pocket as she hurried away.

* * *

"What the...?"

The technician glanced up at the lights as they flickered before going out.

"A power-cut?"

Emergency lighting cast eerie green shadows in the control room. He felt a growing sense of unease.

Unease became full blown panic as before his eyes the blast shields groaned ominously into place, the familiar sound of the Stargate beginning a dialling sequence almost obscured by the metallic noise.

He pounded his keyboard to no avail, his screen showing no abnormal activity from the 'Gate.

"General Higgins to the control room!" he shouted into his microphone in abject panic, unable even to sound the alarm for an unauthorised 'gate activation.

There was the terribly familiar sound of the Stargate engaging, the _kawoosh_ and then... nothing.

General Higgins entered at a run as the blast doors began to roll back. Colonel Carter was standing on the ramp, right in front of the event horizon. She was dressed in BDUs, carrying a standard issue backpack and even equipped with a zat.

"I'm sorry!" she shouted, meeting his eyes.

Then she stepped backwards into the watery pool and was gone. A flabbergasted General stared in complete disbelief, mouth open in shock.

The Stargate disengaged, leaving the gateroom in the disconcerting green dark of the emergency lighting system.


	4. Kev'nar

This chapter is... a little weird, I'll admit and has suggested content that is probably not suitable for readers under 17. If you don't want to read it, skip ahead. It won't affect the 'flow' of the story!

Reviews would be appreciated, I want to know if this is weird:powerful or weird:freakish.

* * *

He crooned to himself in the dark, his voice almost worn away to nothing by his screams. He wasn't sure when he had started singing to keep himself sane. Hell, he wasn't sure about anything nowadays. His memory was in worse shape than his physical shell. 

Initially they had been little things, insignificant details that had drifted away. He'd had more pressing concerns than perfect recall of the pizza delivery place's telephone number at that time.

Then larger things, names and numbers that he felt were important to him.

And then, huge gaping holes in his memory that sent jolting waves of panic through his ruined body if he dared to even let his mind touch on them.

Like the names of the days of the week.

His own middle name.

His address.

Large parts of the day would filter in and out of his consciousness, mingling with dreams, imaginings and enforced hallucinations.

It was, he mused, as if in an effort to prevent his captors from gaining access to the important data that nestled in his brain it was locking down and preventing anyone from looking. Even himself.

But he'd found singing songs under his breath helped him hold onto the important memories that remained.

Any songs, even stupid jingles from adverts. Abba songs, which he'd always hated but somehow knew all the lyrics to. Happy Birthday was a good one, it was simple and so ingrained in his consciousness he never stumbled over the words and became frightened.

He could hear footsteps in the corridor and became quiet, lying perfectly still. The door to his cell opened. At another time, after a visit to the sarcophagus, then he might have the strength to try and attack the Jaffa who was framed in the door lintel. Not now. He lay still and wished for the Jaffa to go away.

It did not.

"Get up."

He remained lying on the floor, passive resistance being better than none at all. He would not let them see how broken he had become.

"Get up!"

He did not.

The Jaffa walked over to him, sneering in disgust. It kicked him in the back. He rolled across the floor, tears forcing themselves from his eyes but he refused to scream. A strong hand grabbed his hair, filthily long and matter locks, and pulled him onto his feet.

He broke, the pain in his scalp excruciating. He lashed out with his hands, humiliation complete as the Jaffa laughed at his pathetic retaliation.

"You are weak now, human. You will break."

He would not. He would endure.

For her.

For the one memory no amount of unimaginable torture could ever erase.

For Carter.

* * *

Kev'nar lounged, one leg dangling over the arm of his throne-chair, smiling thinly. He turned O'Neill's dog-tag over and over, never breaking eye-contact.

Kev'nar was a master of interrogation and brutal punishment; a sadist even by the poor standards of the Goa'uld. He was infamous for being able to extract information from even the hardiest of prisoners: _in_famous because even the Goa'uld recognised the repugnance of a being who took enjoyment in the pain of others to a ridiculous level. Hated and despised by his own species, his existence was tolerated simply because he got results and he got them _fast._

O'Neill did not know it, but he had set a new record for prisoner endurance. Kev'nar had, unthinkably, grown weary of the constant and unfathomable resistance of this particular Tau'ri. His boredom wrestling with a twisted professional pride, he had offered O'Neill in trade to the System Lords and yet still felt the desperate need to extract the information that nestled within O'Neill's brain before the trade occurred.

At first Kev'nar had experimented with the more traditional methods of punishment: knives, acids, pain-sticks, sarcophagus-induced revival and repetition of the same deadly torments. O'Neill had not crumbled and Kev'nar had advanced to the next level of his sadistic program of extraction; starvation, sleep deprivation, the use of a red hot poker inserted into bodily orifices; using the sarcophagus only as O'Neill approached death. He had used hallucinogenic drugs, memory recall and manipulation devices. O'Neill had surpassed even the hardiest Tok'ra in outwitting the programs, refusing to talk as he watched his son die again and again, murdered by the hands of his friends, lovers, even his wife. He had sent him slowly blind by pinning his eyelids to his face, grown splinters of a plant which bore a hideous similarity to bamboo under his fingernails and into his fingers, and through the muscles webs of his arms and legs. He had forced O'Neill to drink water until he began drowning in his own bodily fluids, broken every bone in his body.

And whilst the man would scream, and babble incoherently, answering ever irrelevant question, telling Kev'nar there were 'however many damn thrones he wanted' when asked to repeat the lie of 'there are two thrones'.... and yet remained obstinately, maddeningly silent when asked, for example, the 'gate address to the Alpha Site.

Kev'nar stood up and O'Neill whimpered pathetically. "You _will _tell me, Tau'ri, everything I want to know."

There was silence, silence Kev'nar had come to despise.

Then-

"Bite me."

-O'Neill spat, his blood stained sputum landing pathetically short of the Goa'uld and lying, glistening on the floor, a testament to his refusal to co-operate.

He wasn't even sure why he was refusing any-more. He couldn't remember enough of who or what he was to know why it was crucial not to speak.

He just _knew_ that if he did break then whatever he was would be lost, irretrievably.

So he sung 'Killer Queen' in his mind as he watched Charlie die, all over again.


	5. Jacob's Reaction

The doubts she had been so convinced were going to assail her at any given moment were yet to appear. She stepped through yet another event horizon with no feeling of trepidation; no fear. She had committed a criminal offence great enough to probably guarantee her a life-sentence in prison, she had sacrificed her career...

And she felt nothing except grim determination to see this through.

The current Tok'ra home planet of Tuin was unusually hospitable. The Stargate was half-overgrown, situated in the very centre of a wooded glade. A large proportion of Tuin's landmass was covered in forest, the majority of trees a deciduous species rather similar to the leafy oaks on planet Earth. It was daytime, and Carter crunched across the leaf littered floor of the copse in dappled sunlight.

She had left the SGC for a neutral site and immediately moved onwards to another location, in case Higgins sent men after her. She had debated internally whether or not to 'gate almost immediately to Tuin. She suspected that Higgins might guess her plan and send a team through Earth's 'gate to intercept her. Eventually her fear of delay had won out, she had dialled the address and stepped into the open wormhole.

An operative dropped out of a tree, startling her. "Colonel Carter?" His gaze dropped to her primed zat gun, trained on his chest. "I am Tok'ra," he added hesitantly. "Your father told us to expect SG-1."

She nodded and lowered the zat a little, still cautious. "I didn't see you there," she said apologetically, "You surprised me.

The man bowed his head. "I am glad. Had you not been a friend..." He left his sentence delicately unfinished.

She felt a measure of awkwardness return to her and felt relieved. She _was_ still herself, after all. "Uh. Is my father around?"

"Jacob and Selmac? They are in a meeting of the High Council. I will take you to them."

"Thank you. Um, I'm sorry, I don't think I know your name...?"

"My name is Tel'esh, Colonel Carter."

She felt a blush colour her cheeks. "Then thank you, Tel'esh."

She followed the young man through the woods. Branches clawed at her clothes, leaving her stained with green smears of lichens, moss and a sticky patch of sap by the time she reached the Tok'ra tunnels. Tel'esh did not speak to her, but turned every so often and favoured her with a smile before leading her inexorably onward.

Eventually they came to a halt outside the opening to what was presumably a fairly large chamber, judging by the size of the arched entrance. Tel'esh smiled again at her and she felt a flash of irritation. "I will leave you here. The Council will be dissolved shortly."

"Thank you."

He disappeared into the maze of tunnels, leaving her alone again. She paced up and down a little, hands behind her back, feeling like a naughty school-child waiting outside a headteacher's office. Which, in a sense she supposed she was. She couldn't imagine her father being exactly ecstatic about her decision to commit treason in a foolhardy attempt to save the man she loved.

She stopped pacing very suddenly.

_The man I love?_

She was still pondering her thought when the councillors began walking through the archway, alone or in pairs, talking quietly amongst themselves. Her father was the last to exit the chamber. He was frowning a little and she felt the knot of tension inside her which had been building as she had waited tighten.

"No Daniel and Teal'c?" he asked.

She swallowed. "No Dad. This isn't a visit from the SGC."

There was a flinty look in his eyes she recognised. "I didn't think it would be."

If she had doubted her will before, such fears were allayed in the moment she spoke again. "I've left the SGC." Her voice was bored, almost disinterested. "They won't commit the manpower to a rescue operation."

Jacob bowed his head and Selmac spoke. "You have resigned?"

She paused. "Not exactly. I needed to use the 'gate to get here-"

"You have committed a criminal act?" Selmac sounded shocked.

"Yes," she replied, unflinching.

There was a pause and then Jacob returned. She had expected anger, disappointment.

"I thought as much."

Instead there was a lack of emotion.

"You're not... you're not angry?"

He shook his head. "No. I'm not angry. I thought that SG-1 might do something like this when I gave you the news. I admit, I though Daniel and Teal'c would have accompanied you..."

For the first time she felt a pang of guilt. "I didn't give them the chance. There wasn't much time to act." She faltered. "I should have told them." Her gaze dropped to the lacings of her boots.

Jacob's hand fell onto her shoulder, grip painfully tight. "Why have you come to the Tok'ra?"

She met his eyes. "I need intel, a ship capable of light-speed travel, supplies. I thought the Tok'ra might be willing to help. I thought _you _might be willing to help."

He nodded, face grim. When he spoke again, it was with Selmac's voice. "I will do everything in my power to help you, Samantha. You know that. But I cannot promise that... that the high council will authorise me to give you anything that you need. Particularly the use of a ship."

She smiled. "And _I_ know _that_. Don't worry, Selmac. I'll take what I can and move on. The Tok'ra aren't the only ones who owe me... who owe General _O'Neill_, a favour."

Jacob smiled back at her a little sadly. "He means a lot to you, doesn't he?" her father asked.

She gulped nervously. "Yes."

"Does, uh, Pete know about this?"

She bit her lip. "He guessed as much. We... we're not together anymore."

Jacob nodded slowly, as if weighing up his options. "I talked to Jack, you know. Before your wedding."

"What?"

"Before you married Pete. I asked him... if he thought he was leaving things a little late."

"_What?_"

"He told me you'd made you choice and he respected it. And that I of all people should know there are some things in life that we can only hold in our hand for a little while, but carry with us for a lifetime. It struck me as a very un-Jack thing to say... He loves you."

She let the anger consume her before grief could claim her. "Why are you telling me this now? Why not then? Why were you talking with Jack anyway?"

He shrugged. "I love you too Sam. I wanted you to be happy. Come on. You need to speak to the High Council, remember?"

He turned on his heel and walked back through the archway, leaving her fuming in the corridor.


	6. What Could Be Worse Than Treason?

"I am _begging _you," she said, her blue eyes fixed on the increasingly uncomfortable Tok'ra High Council.

"Colonel Carter-" began High Councillor Garshaw.

"Sam," she said, cutting him off. "I've left the Air Force."

She thought she saw her father wince; she ignored him.

"Samantha," the councillor continued, "It is not that we are unwilling to participate in a rescue mission... it is simply... the chances of success are limited and we do not have a great number of ships at our disposal."

She sighed and spread her hands. "I understand. I know it's... nothing personal."

"We will of course provide you with all intelligence regarding O'Neill that becomes available to us."

She couldn't quite stop the sarcasm from slipping through her teeth. She flushed as she spoke, but didn't apologise. "Well, that's...that's something."

"We _are_ sorry that we can not be of further assistance."

"As am I," she replied, her voice as cold as the blue eyes that imprisoned the man. She bowed her head, the movement slightly savage. "With your permission, I will take my leave of the chamber."

Garshaw sighed. "You have our permission, Samantha... and we wish you luck.."

She smiled thinly. "Thank you."

Jacob let out a long breath as she stalked out of the chamber.

* * *

She was surprised to find she wasn't that angry. What else could she expect? His own people had refused to commit the resources to a rescue operation, why should alien allies be expected to do more?

No, she wasn't angry.

Instead a bitter determination was washing over her, filling her as if she was an empty glass. She clinched the straps of her heavy back-pack and settled it more comfortably across her shoulders.

_After all,_ whispered the part of her awakened in her lab, _I've committed treason. What's a little theft compared to that?_

"Colonel Carter?"

She stiffened. An attractive young man had just appeared from an archway to her right. Her fingers strayed to the zat at her side.

He raised a hand. "Please. I wish to help you."

"Help me?"

The man licked his lips nervously. "Rescue O'Neill." He stepped closer. "I was... listening to your plea to the High Council. I suspected you would head towards the Tel'tak hanger... I can help you steal a ship."

She frowned. "Steal a ship? I'm very sorry-"

"I am Charlie," he said, interrupting her and touching her shoulder lightly.

"Charlie?" Her frown deepened and then understanding dawned. "Charlie! I-I didn't recognise you..."

"There will be time for catching up later," he said politely, smiling a little. "At this moment I am more concerned about procuring transport for us to the planet where O'Neill is held."

The seed of suspicion was still implanted in her brain. "Charlie... I would never _consider_ stealing a Tel'tak from the Tok'ra..."

His smile broadened. "I am not working for the High Council, Colonel."

"I never said you were."

"No. But you believe me to be testing you. Whilst your suspicion is anticipated, it is not helpful to O'Neill. If we do not act swiftly it will be impossible for us to steal a Tel'tak."

"Charlie," she tried again, her exasperation beginning to rise.

"Please. Samantha. Trust me."

She met his eyes, sighed and closed her own for a brief second. _Time to go with my gut. _"What do you have in mind?"

He smiled again. "I am a pilot and have access to the hanger. We will use my access codes to gain entry and then we can steal a Tel'tak. It should be fairly simple."

"Lead the way," she said, her fingers still lingering on the cool metal of the zat. _After all, I could always zat him after he inputs the access codes..._

The hanger was apparently empty. Charlie tapped quite a complex code into a crystal interface and there was a change in the _texture_ of the air, a feeling of a larger space being opened up, as if a door had opened.

"A force-field?" she asked.

He nodded, putting a finger to his lips.

He stepped forward cautiously and then appeared more at ease. He beckoned her forward.

The hanger was a huge cave, lined with the blue hexagonal Tok'ra crystals. There were only three Tel'taks currently inside the cave. Charlie smiled and headed for the one closest to them.

Once inside he spoke. "This is the ship I first learnt to pilot," he said and she found herself smiling back at him.

He settled into the pilot's chairs, running quickly through the pre-flight checks. She paced nervously. After a few minutes his symbiote apparently felt moved to speak. "Samantha, I am working as quickly as possible. I thought it would be wise to download the information about O'Neill currently held in the Tok'ra database into the ship's computer. The position of the planet where he is being held is of crucial importance."

She sighed and spread her hands in a conciliatory gesture, trying to appear calm despite the slight shock of hearing the alien voice being issued from the boy's mouth for the first time. "I'm sorry if I appear impatient. I'm just... anxious to leave."

_Before my father finds out what I'm doing. _

_Christ. Dad's going to go crazy when he finds out about this..._

She wiped a bead of nervous perspiration from her brow with the sleeve of her jacket.

"I'm finished," Charlie said, powering up the engines.

A alarm began to sound in the hangar and a pained look crossed the young Tok'ra's face.

"What?" Carter demanded.

He grimaced. "Are unauthorised departure has, unfortunately been detected. I advise you to... hold onto something!"

Carter grabbed for the seat as the ship lurched forward. "What are you doing?!" she shrieked.

"Evading capture!" he returned.

She managed to pull herself into the chair as the view from the cargo-ship windows changed with a heart stopping sudden burst of sunlight.

Charlie crowed. "I beat the High Council security system! Ha! Everyone thought it was impossible!"

The ship sped upwards into the stratosphere. "What co-ordinates have you set?" she asked after a moment's silence.

"The planet where O'Neill is being held, of course."

_Ah. _"We can't go there yet."

He turned to look at her, confused for a moment. Then his face cleared. "You have a plan." It's wasn't a question.

She nodded anyway. "We're going to visit a friend of mine first. Another person who owes General O'Neill a favour. We're going to need a bargaining tool and I know _just_ the man who can provide us with it."


End file.
